


In the Void Beyond the World

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ainu soul structure, Ainur - Freeform, Emotions, Eru - Freeform, Fear, Loss, Love, M/M, Melkor has Lord issues, Pain, Painful Truths, Psychological, Self Knowledge, Valar - Freeform, War of Wrath, angbang, melkor can't handle loving eru, mentions abuse, post the war of wrath, void
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 23:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: Locked away in the Void after the War of Wrath and eaten away by the vacuum, Melkor sees himself as he is. He understands some painful truths, among them his real feelings toward his Lieutenant.





	In the Void Beyond the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sigurfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigurfox/gifts).



> Sigurfox, I cooked this is for you because you are marvelous and like Ainur stuff. Hope it's tasty enough! If not, just spit it out, that's OK!

At first, Melkor was shocked.

How did all this happen? How _could_ his siblings humiliate him like that, he who was their better and their rightful king? How dare they take away from him what was his? Everything they created and loved was only made possible because of him: he poured so much of his power into this Kingdom, unlike the rest of the Valar who only fiddled with the surface of Matter in an effort to keep themselves pure, as if pureness had anything to do with it. Arda was strong _because_ of him, because of his power running through every particle of it, and not _despite_ him. Apparently, this plain fact the so-called wise ones could not get through their thick heads. This made him angry.

Anger chewed through him like a beast of many fangs. It peeled off his skin, shriveled his flesh, and dissolved his bones in a last, glorious rush of flames. Being angry felt good and Melkor reveled in the sensation, but once it was done eating him, the anger faded and was gone. Melkor found himself alone in the nothingness, unclad. Floating.

Cold.

It hurt, it hurt so bad, being left disembodied in the vacuum of the Void. The pain stripped away his soul, tearing layer after layer of the glittering darkness that comprised his unclad self. But, as he was surprised to see amid his suffering, his darkness did not glitter as it once had in the Timeless Halls. It was faded now, blunt, and corroded. He was not what he thought he was, not the splendid, powerful spirit he used to be: for as the ragged veils slipped, Melkor noticed things hiding in their folds, things that were made manifest as the darkness melted away. Shame was hiding there and regret, helplessness and hopelessness that shivered and shook as their mantel was gone. All the weak, embarrassing fears he accumulated during his years in Arda were revealed in stark light and demanded to be reckoned with.

He fought against it: he could not deal with his weaknesses, he would not do it! But the pain he felt intensified until he knew he had no choice but to face them. So, in the timelessness of the Void, he did. And as he gazed straight into each of his fears, they, too, slinked away and faded, no longer screaming but more like a ring orbiting a planet: their shadows could be seen fleeting across the last remaining glimmer of the Core of his soul, the only part of him to remain intact. They were ghostly fingers that caressed, but could never really cut him like they did before. A few spins and they, too, had left him.

He should have been pleased to be rid of the fears, but he was not. For now he noticed that without emotions to anchor him, he became small, so small: a tiny, concentrated dot. That was his Core and it held fast, for in it dwelt one spark of the Flame Imperishable, planted by the One before Time to serve Him. It was immortal, indestructible save only by His hand. But it had no mass, no meaning, and no ability to affect anything beyond it. It was utterly insignificant, except…

Look – there! Wrapped tight around that holy spark, one last emotion remained, giving it a shred of meaning and importance. Melkor squinted:

 _Love_?

Melkor was aghast. Was it there the whole time? He looked at it, trying to comprehend its secrets, and understood suddenly that he did know it. He knew it long ago, before the glimmering Light faded from his soul. Yes, love was in him all the time, nursed close to his center, its secret candle lost in the glare of the Core. But every emotion must have an object to refer to, or else it is null and void. What did the love refer to? What could Melkor love?

The answer was not quick to come. He found himself trying to fight against it, only he lacked the strength. His mind opened like a dam and thought crashed through the barriers: the first thought to come to him was Eru, and with it came a wave of grief so overwhelming that, were he still embodied, Melkor would have cried out in dire pain. Yes, he had loved his Lord so much back when Creation was still young, and being Disowned by Him was a calamity he could never heal from. He shut that wound deep inside him and let it fester, pretending it was not there, afraid to look at it. But as is the nature of infections, it colored his thinking and moved his hands through everything he had done. Now it hit him with the force of an exploding star, and in his open, vulnerable state, he couldn’t handle it. No, the lingering love for his lost Lord was bad, bad. He must not think of it if he still wanted to keep some of his sanity intact. He was abandoned a long time ago. That door was closed, never to open again. He must think of something else.

Arda, then, his Kingdom he worked so hard to create and maintain. Melkor quickly filled his mind’s eye with the images, sounds, and textures of the world that was his. Warmth filled him for a while, thinking of his works. How he strengthened the bonds that held the Matter it was made from, how he raised mountains and filled seas, the living things he improved and utilized, setting them like gems into the grand mesh of his plans. But the warmth did not last long. The visions curdled when Melkor remembered the land’s betrayal, how it spurned him again and again, ever seeking to change from the way he set it and crawl into the arms of his siblings and their designs. The creatures who rebelled against him: even those seemingly most loyal to him rebelled when they died, escaping his nets and running straight into his sibling’s halls in the West. There was no solace in Arda, too. So why did this ember linger in is soul? What kept it going?

Melkor inspected the ember, and was stunned when he finally recognized the object it pointed to:

Mairon.

The ember in his soul referred to Mairon, the Maia.

That was impossible.

Melkor would laugh if he could. He _loved_ a Maia? A lowly being that was created solely for the purpose of serving him? The thought was preposterous. One could not love a being lesser than one was. Appreciate, perhaps. Definitely acknowledge its worth and reward accordingly. But love? No!     

And yet…

 _Mairon_ , Melkor thought, rolling the name in his mind. Mairon, at the Dawn of Time, a golden-flamed Music of industry and order, so beautiful and enchanting as he turned to stare. Mairon, who came to him when he called. Mairon, who always went out of his way to serve him, to give him what he desired. Who changed himself, soul and body alike, to be more pleasing. Mairon, who was always loyal: who hated Melkor’s enemies with fervor unlike any other’s, but loved and adored him far deeper than anything a Maia should have been able to feel by nature. Mairon, whose warmth supported him through so many dark moments, when the weight of Eä seemed unbearable, and whose flames gave him so much satisfaction. Mairon, who persisted through every kind of unjust abuse he saw fit to punish him with, who kissed the hands that hurt him and swore his soul to him again and again when Melkor felt fear creeping into him in the outcome of this abuse. Mairon, whose eyes he could still see before him, his mouth twisted in a scream when he fought to reach him that last time, when everything crumbled around him and the Doors of Creation slammed shut behind his back. Melkor’s soul heaved sharply, a tremor passing through it. Yes, of course he loved Mairon, his precious, precious Mairon. How could he not see it before?

No, thought Melkor. No. No. No. He could not be trapped here with this realization and nothing else. Not after he lost him.

Even Eru could not be _that_ cruel.

In the Void beyond the World, the Marrer of Creation screamed at last.


End file.
